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 So chants the Sea-boy, sauntering from his boat—

Now the cold rains are over, and the sky

Round about Fuji's head glows pearl and gold:

With, high above the hardly rippling waves,

Yon gilded sickle of the new-made Moon

Leading the pale lamp of the Evening Star

Attendant, like some heavenly Musume.

"Oh, at a Spring-tide so delectable,

With purple iris fringing all the rice

And fiery lilies flaming in the rye,

The air so soft, the pines whispering so low,

The dragon-flies, like fairy spears of steel

Darting or poised, the velvet butterflies

Fluttering to sip the last sweets of the rape

Before the great Sun goes,—at such an hour

The Gods themselves might come awhile to Earth"—

So sings young Hakuriyô.

And, behold!

Suddenly—hanging on a branch of fir—

A wondrous sight he spies! The samisens

Twangle surprise, the drums beat Hê-hê-hê,